hovering above the sunset； and passing away into violet and
lavender； with turquoise green north and south in the sky； and
in the east； a great； yellow moon hanging heavy and radiant。 It
was magnificent to walk between the sunset and the moon； on a
road where little holly trees thrust black into the rose and
lavender； and starlings flickered in droves across the light。
But what was the end of the journey？ The pain came right enough；
later on； when his heart and his feet were heavy； his brain
dead； his life stopped。
One afternoon； the pains began； Mrs。 Brangwen was put to bed；
the midwife came。 Night fell； the shutters were closed； Brangwen
came in to tea； to the loaf and the pewter teapot； the child；
silent and quivering； playing with glass beads； the house；
empty； it seemed； or exposed to the winter night； as if it had
no walls。
Sometimes there sounded； long and remote in the house；
vibrating through everything； the moaning cry of a woman in
labour。 Brangwen； sitting downstairs； was divided。 His lower；
deeper self was with her； bound to her； suffering。 But the big
shell of his body remembered the sound of owls that used to fly
round the farmstead when he was a boy。 He was back in his youth；
a boy； haunted by the sound of the owls； waking up his brother
to speak to him。 And his mind drifted away to the birds； their
solemn； dignified faces； their flight so soft and broadwinged。
And then to the birds his brother had shot； fluffy；
dustcoloured； dead heaps of softness with faces absurdly
asleep。 It was a queer thing； a dead owl。
He lifted his cup to his lips； he watched the child with the
beads。 But his mind was occupied with owls； and the atmosphere
of his boyhood； with his brothers and sisters。 Elsewhere；
fundamental； he was with his wife in labour； the child was being
brought forth out of their one flesh。 He and she； one flesh； out
of which life must be put forth。 The rent was not in his body；
but it was of his body。 On her the blows fell； but the quiver
ran through to him； to his last fibre。 She must be torn asunder
for life to e forth； yet still they were one flesh； and
still； from further back； the life came out of him to her； and
still he was the unbroken that has the broken rock in its arms；
their flesh was one rock from which the life gushed； out of her
who was smitten and rent； from him who quivered and yielded。
He went upstairs to her。 As he came to the bedside she spoke
to him in Polish。
〃Is it very bad？〃 he asked。
She looked at him； and oh； the weariness to her； of the
effort to understand another language； the weariness of hearing
him； attending to him； making out who he was； as he stood there
fairbearded and alien； looking at her。 She knew something of
him； of his eyes。 But she could not grasp him。 She closed her
eyes。
He turned away； white to the gills。
〃It's not so very bad；〃 said the midwife。
He knew he was a strain on his wife。 He went downstairs。
The child glanced up at him； frightened。
〃I want my mother；〃 she quavered。
〃Ay； but she's badly；〃 he said mildly； unheeding。
She looked at him with lost； frightened eyes。
〃Has she got a headache？〃
〃Noshe's going to have a baby。〃
The child looked round。 He was unaware of her。 She was alone
again in terror。
〃I want my mother；〃 came the cry of panic。
〃Let Tilly undress you；〃 he said。 〃You're tired。〃
There was another silence。 Again came the cry of labour。
〃I want my mother；〃 rang automatically from the wincing；
panicstricken child； that felt cut off and lost in a horror of
desolation。
Tilly came forward； her heart wrung。
〃e an' let me undress her then； petlamb；〃 she crooned。
〃You s'll have your mother in th' mornin'； don't you fret； my
duckie； never mind； angel。〃
But Anna stood upon the sofa； her back to the wall。
〃I want my mother；〃 she cried； her little face quivering； and
the great tears of childish； utter anguish falling。
〃She's poorly； my lamb； she's poorly tonight； but she'll be
better by mornin'。 Oh； don't cry； don't cry； love； she doesn't
want you to cry； precious little heart； no； she doesn't。〃
Tilly took gently hold of the child's skirts。 Anna snatched
back her dress； and cried； in a little hysteria：
〃No； you're not to undress meI want my
mother；〃and her child's face was running with grief and
tears； her body shaken。
〃Oh； but let Tilly undress you。 Let Tilly undress you； who
loves you； don't be wilful tonight。 Mother's poorly； she
doesn't want you to cry。〃
The child sobbed distractedly； she could not hear。
〃I wantmymother；〃 she wept。
〃When you're undressed； you s'll go up to see your
motherwhen you're undressed； pet； when you've let Tilly
undress you； when you're a little jewel in your nightie； love。
Oh； don't you cry； don't you〃
Brangwen sat stiff in his chair。 He felt his brain going
tighter。 He crossed over the room； aware only of the maddening
sobbing。
〃Don't make a noise；〃 he said。
And a new fear shook the child from the sound of his voice。
She cried mechanically； her eyes looking watchful through her
tears； in terror； alert to what might happen。
〃I wantmymother；〃 quavered the sobbing； blind
voice。
A shiver of irritation went over the man's limbs。 It was the
utter； persistent unreason； the maddening blindness of the voice
and the crying。
〃You must e and be undressed；〃 he said； in a quiet voice
that was thin with anger。
And he reached his hand and grasped her。 He felt her body
catch in a convulsive sob。 But he too was blind； and intent；
irritated into mechanical action。 He began to unfasten her
little apron。 She would have shrunk from him； but could not。 So
her small body remained in his grasp； while he fumbled at the
little buttons and tapes； unthinking； intent； unaware of
anything but the irritation of her。 Her body was held taut and
resistant； he pushed off the little dress and the petticoats；
revealing the white arms。 She kept stiff； overpowered； violated；
he went on with his task。 And all the while she sobbed；
choking：
〃I want my mother。〃
He was unheedingly silent； his face stiff。 The child was now
incapable of understanding； she had bee a little； mechanical
thing of fixed will。 She wept； her body convulsed； her voice
repeating the same cry。
〃Eh； dear o' me！〃 cried Tilly； being distracted herself。
Brangwen； slow； clumsy； blind； intent； got off all the little
garments； and stood the child naked in its shift upon the
sofa。
〃Where's her nightie？〃 he asked。
Tilly brought it； and he put it on her。 Anna did not move her
limbs to his desire。 He had to push them into place。 She stood；
with fixed； blind will； resistant； a small； convulsed；
unchangeable thing weeping ever and repeating the same phrase。
He lifted one foot after the other； pulled off slippers and
socks。 She was ready。
〃Do you want a drink？〃 he asked。
She did not change。 Unheeding； uncaring； she stood on the
sofa； standing back； alone； her hands shut and half lifted； her
face； all tears； raised and blind。 And through the sobbing and
choking came the broken：
〃Iwantmymother。〃
〃Do you want a drink？〃 he said again。
There was no answer。 He lifted the stiff； denying body
between his hands。 Its stiff blindness made a flash of rage go
through him。 He would like to break it。
He set the child on his knee； and sat again in his chair
beside the fire； the wet； sobbing； inarticulate noise going on
near his ear； the child sitting stiff； not yielding to him or
anything； not aware。
A new degree of anger came over him。 What did it all matter？
What did it matter if the mother talked Polish and cried in
labour； if this child were stiff with resistance； and crying？
Why take it to heart？ Let the mother cry in labour； let the
child cry in resistance； since they would do so。 Why should he
fight against it； why resist？ Let it be； if it were so。 Let them
be as they were； if they insisted。
And in a daze he sat； offering no fight。 The child cried on；
the minutes ticked away； a sort of torpor was on him。
It was some little time before he came to； and turned to
attend to the child。 He was shocked by her little wet； blinded
face。 A bit dazed； he pushed back the wet hair。 Like a living
statue of grief； her blind face cried on。
〃Nay；〃 he said； 〃not as bad as that。 It's not as bad as that；
Anna； my child。 e； what are you crying for so much？ e；
stop now； it'll make you sick。 I wipe you dry； don't wet your
face any more。 Don't cry any more wet tears； don't； it's better
not to。 Don't cryit's not so bad as all that。 Hush now；
hushlet it be enough。〃
His voice was queer and distant and calm。 He looked at the
child。 She was beside herself now。 He wanted her to stop； he
wanted it all to stop； to bee natural。
〃e；〃 he said； rising to turn away； 〃we'll go an' supperup
the beast。〃
He took a big shawl； folded her round； and went out into the
kitchen for a lantern。
〃You're never taking the child out； of a night like this；〃
said Tilly。
〃Ay； it'll quieten her；〃 he answered。
It was raining。 The child was suddenly still； shocked；
finding the rain on its face； the darkness。
〃We'll just give the cows their somethingtoeat； afore they
go to bed；〃 Brangwen was saying to her； holding her close and
sure。
There was a trickling of water into the butt； a burst of
raindrops sputtering on to her shawl； and the light of the
lantern swinging； flashing on a wet pavement and the base of a
wet wall。 Otherwise it was black darkness： one breathed
darkness。
He opened the doors； upper and lower； and they entered into
the high； dry barn； that smelled warm even if it were not warm。
He hung the lantern on the nail and shut the door。 They were in
another world now。 The light shed softly on the timbered barn；
on the whitewashed walls； and the great heap of hay； instruments
cast their shadows largely； a ladder rose to the dark arch of a
loft。 Outside there was the driving rain； inside； the
softlyilluminated stillness and calmness of the barn。
Holding the child on one arm； he set about preparing the food
for the cows； filling a pan with chopped hay and brewer's grains
and a little meal。 The child； all wonder； watched what he did。 A
new being was created in her for the new conditions。 Sometimes；
a little spasm； eddying from the bygone storm of sobbing； shook
her small body。 Her eyes were wide and wondering； pathetic。 She
was silent； quite still。
In a sort of dream； his heart sunk to the bottom； leaving the
surface of him still； quite still； he rose with the panful of
food； carefully balancing the child on one arm； the pan in the
other hand。 The silky fringe of the shawl swayed softly； grains
and hay trickled to the floor； he went along a dimlylit passage
behind the mangers； where the horns of the cows pricked out of
the obscurity。 The child shrank； he balanced stiffly； rested the
pan on the manger wall； and tipped out the food； half to this
cow； half to the next。 There was a noise of chains running； as
the cows lifted or dropped their heads sharply； then a
contented； soothing sound； a long snuffing as the beasts ate in
silence。
The journey had to be performed several times。 There was the
rhythmic sound of the shovel in the barn； then the man returned
walking sti